Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Times Crucible - Marc Platt [5]
Around them, the perspective of the walls started to shift; closer here, then farther, until Ace could see through their opaque framework into the juddering reality outside. She clung to the sides of her chair tightly.
"Baked Alaska?" asked Debbie, walking with their order across the shifting tiles of the floor.
Alice's eyes were the colour of the stolen sky, framed by the fiery red gold of her hair. She gazed enquiringly at the Doctor.
He shook his head in despair. "I don't know," he said. "You tell me what happens next."
The little girl turned her head and looked out of the window. "Pusscat," she said, "miaow, miaow."
They followed her gaze. A cat was sitting on the ruptured pavement outside, staring intently in at them. It wasn't a kitten; it was a very small, perfectly proportioned, adult cat and its coat was shimmering silver.
"D'you want this or not?" said Debbie. The moussaka, half-congealed on the plate, opened out like a rose. Within its milk-white petals was a heart of fire.
The Doctor tipped forward on to the table with a moan of pain. Unable to use the disintegrating floor to reach him, Ace clambered over the table. The cutlery and condiments scuttled to get out of her way. She cradled and clung to the trembling Doctor.
"Is he all right?" said Alice's father, getting up from his place.
"You should call an ambulance," said Alice's mother. Debbie turned and ran for the kitchen.
The Doctor stared out of the window at the cat. "What does it want?" whispered Ace. "What's happening?"
The sky pulsed balefully like a beacon with light that came from the north and Perivale. A 207 bus sped past, its windows reflecting a barren desert. The whole concept and existence of Ealing Broadway was beginning to curl at the edges. "The TARDIS . . ." choked the Doctor.
The cat rose and trotted up the street out of view.
With a sudden burst of energy, the Doctor pulled himself free of Ace. Sending his chair clattering away, he staggered towards the door. The walls of the café began to resolve again, blotting out the abyss of clouds beyond them.
Ace was hurrying after the Doctor, but a shout from Debbie called her back. "Here," she snapped. She slammed a plastic bag of twenty-pence winnings from a pub fruit machine down on the table.
"Oi!" shouted Debbie as Ace disappeared onto the Broadway. "You didn't even eat it." She looked at the baked Alaska, already melting in the afternoon sunshine.
"Weirdies," agreed Alice's parents.
"Bye bye, pusscat," said Alice and got on with stirring her ice cream.
2: Cat's Eyes
Vael awoke in a cold sweating fever. The chanting from the streets was still pounding into his mind. The Pythia was gone with the fading nightmare, but the smell of woodsmoke still clung to his dingy room. He ran his clammy hands over his face and through his red-gold hair, vainly trying to shut out the rabble's thoughts; he needed the privacy of his own head, but the cheering for the returned Hero mocked at Vael's failure and lost powers.
Pushing his way on to the icy streets, he was jostled along on the tide of the celebrating throng. It was easier to drift with them. The icon banners, the drone of the pianalaika bands, like the voice of the relentless frost. Where he went did not matter; he had no future, that was plain. He was cast out, no longer appointed or anointed. So he wilfully immersed himself in the crowd's euphoric thoughts and was lost. Nobody.
"Rejoice, people of Gallifrey. Praise and honour great Prydonius and his mighty heroes!"
Easier said than done.
Vael had forgotten his coat. He shivered either from the vicious cold or a fever. Suddenly famished, he found himself buying a greasy quickfish from a stall at the edge of the Street. He knew he was just responding to junk thoughts, urges put in his head through cheap advertising, but he ate the gristly morsel anyway, even half enjoying its tacky blandness. It was finished in a few mouthfuls and then he